Thrill of the Kill
by iwilltry-tocarryon
Summary: One-shot, takes place after 1X19, what would've happened if Charlie went after Monroe in the tower


"Hello Charlotte," his raspy voice stunned her, body turning cold as ice as Sebastian Monroe strode towards her.

When she didn't respond, he prompted her, "a thank you would be nice."

Not having any time to retort, she saw her mother's body coming into view, and although she was mildly happy to see her, she wasn't happy when Monroe turned his back and her mother just stood there, holding a rather large weapon, while the enemy walked away.

"Mom?"

Charlie managed to squeak out one word while Aaron and her mother worked on freeing her trapped body.

As soon as it was off, Charlie's body flung up on its own accord. Shooting up like a rocket onto her feet, she came face to face with her mother.

"No," was all her mother blurted out as Charlie attempted to maneuver past her body.

"Where did Monroe go?"

She grunted out, gritting her teeth in anger as her mother's hand closed around her elbow in a vice grip. Charlie didn't care how tightly her mother latched on, she was going to break free and go after the son of a bitch.

"What the hell are you doing here Charlie? I told you not to come."

She directed her challenging eyes towards her mother, "what am I doing here? What the hell are you doing here with him?"

Finally able to break free from Rachel's grip, Charlie scrambled towards the direction Monroe went down the hall. Ignoring Aaron's and her mother's shouting.

She couldn't believe her mother walked in behind Monroe and didn't even try to kill him or anything. She just let him walk away. But Charlie couldn't do that, not after all the trouble they had gone through to get here. Not with all the anger and hatred she harbored against him.

Running down the corridor, she dodged flying debris and ducked every time she heard shots fired.

Her strategy was simple: stay low, under the radar, and shoot at anything that moved. Which didn't seem like the most foolproof plan. She could only think about one thing though, getting to Monroe.

Charlie aimed at one man, barely even grimacing when he dropped to his knees and slowly fell backwards. It was starting to become almost natural to her, killing people. Not people, the enemy, people trying to kill her and her family. She couldn't think about them in any other way or she would be just as bad as Monroe, but she felt herself becoming desensitized.

"Ugh," she grunted when her back made contact with a white, metal pipe as a member of the Militia used his body weight against her.

Able to get in a few good kicks to his stomach, he stumbled back, but the butt of his gun swung around, clocking Charlie in the face. It took every bit of strength she had not to sink like a bag of rocks upon impact, but she held her ground, not going down without a fight.

The man had at least 10 years on her, easy, and roughly 80 pounds he could use to his advantage. She may have been quicker, but in a small confined space such as this, it wasn't beneficial to her.

His large, calloused hands encircled her delicate, tiny neck; thumbs piercing her windpipe so hard, black started to creep into her peripheral vision.

Thrashing against his grip, she saw him falter a bit, but her efforts were all in vain. His hold didn't loosen, and she was sure she was going to die.

A silver sword reflected off the light, glistening in Charlie's hazy eyesight when suddenly, the man's jaw dropped and his hold loosened. Due to the force of the impact, the sword now fully sheathed in the man's stomach propelled specks of blood onto Charlie's neck and chest.

Bracing herself, she willed her eyes open, forcing her vision to come back to her just in time to see the sword glide across the man's neck. Blood poured out, rushing down her savior's hand and the assailant's neck like magma.

Slumping against the pole for support, her eyes roamed from the bottom up, taking in the man's muscular back as he whirled back around. Her eyes grew as wide as saucers, taking in the sight of Monroe for the second time that day, still just as commanding and domineering as before, even when he was killing one of his own men.

His uniform didn't look in the least bit crinkled or out of place. His chest wasn't heaving up and down, and his unruly locks on top of his head sat perfectly sloppily in place. The only thing that had changed was the blood coating his hands as he wiped some of it off onto his uniform. The residue was still there, tinting his hand to be a dull, pastel shade of red.

He made this look effortless. And for him it was. Effortless to kill. Effortless to slice someone's throat open without batting an eyelash. Charlie could've sworn she even saw a twinkle in his eye, and if it had been anyone else, she would've chalked it up to a trick of the light. But not Monroe.

She wanted to react. To do something, but her lungs were gasping for air, still struggling to inflate after being crushed for so long. And while the black was gone from her vision, it was still a little foggy.

He took in Charlie's appearance for a second before he could detect feet shuffling towards him from behind.

Spinning around, Monroe raised his arm just in time to thwart the guy's sloppy attempt. Obliviously the guy kept swinging, not realizing it was the President he was fighting against. It was apparent to Charlie the kid was scared and had no idea what he was doing. He had to be Charlie's age, if not younger, and he was no match for Monroe's brutal onslaught.

Taking the guy's wrist in his grip, he twisted his hand, plunging the sword straight into his chest cavity once, twice, and then one more time for good measure, as Charlie screamed, "no! Wait!"

It was too late.

His eyes rolled into the back of his head, body going slack as Monroe's foot came up to shove the guy onto the cold, hard ground.

Monroe immediately turned around, curious look in his eye at Charlie's outburst. So she was okay with him killing the first guy, but not this kid?

Her gun, which had fall from her limp hold, was being kicked to the side by the toe of his boot as soon as her eye even dared to dart in that direction. She had nothing else on her, how could she have been so stupid?

Planning out an attack in her head, she tried to think of anything she could use against him, but kept coming up empty. He was a damn good fighter, she couldn't deny that, plus he had years of experience and a whole militia at his beck and call.

It wasn't like she could've won the fight, but that didn't stop her fist from closing and wildly swinging out to connect with his cheek.

Taking him by surprise, he almost let go of the sword, but anger and fury returned to his face, clearing his head.

Immediately, he pushed her body back against the pole, pinning her wrists, not even flinching when her head tapped lightly against it, "stop."

His voice barked out the command, but Charlie wouldn't, "if I wanted to kill you, you would've been dead a long time ago."

"Then just do it," her teeth gnawed, head throbbing in pain.

Monroe smirked, letting out a short chorus of laughter, "that would've defeated the purpose of me killing Thomas over there."

He jerked his head in the direction of where the second guy laid, face down, in a pool of his own blood. Charlie involuntarily shuddered.

"You didn't have to kill him. He was just a kid, he didn't know what he was doing," she barked. If she was going to die, she might as well give em hell.

"I don't have to do anything Charlotte," cruelty seeped into his menacing voice as his piercing blue eyes burned holes into her flesh.

"Besides, I didn't see you too concerned with Jimmy over there," he questioned.

That obviously had to be the name of the first guy, choking Charlie to death.

"But I'll bet that is because he deserved it right?"

He sneered the words, his face inches from hers. She shoved against him, but he didn't so much as budge. She didn't want to hear anything else he had to say, mostly because he was right. She wouldn't lose one ounce of sleep over that guy, but he was trying to kill her. That was justification, right? But the other guy was technically trying to kill Monroe—

"Why did you even bother saving me? You could've easily gotten rid of me without pissing off Miles even more. I could've been out of your hair, because believe me, I won't stop until I've killed you," she confidently asserted.

Monroe only let a bitter chuckle escape from deep within his throat, "let's get one thing straight, I don't give a damn about pissing Miles off, he can go to hell for all I care," he growled.

"And second, you aren't the first Matheson to say that, nor would you be the first to try. But don't flatter yourself sweetheart."

He licked his lips, eyes briefly leaving hers to scan down her body, "I wasn't saving you for any particular reason, other than the fact that I can and I enjoy the kill."

"And judging by the look on your flushed cheeks and your labored breathing," he dropped his lips to her ear, "and the fact that I can practically smell you from here, I'd say I'm not alone in getting off on the fight."

She shoved roughly at his body, trying to put some space in between them, "you're disgusting, and a monster."

"We're all monsters here Charlotte. Me, your mom, your uncle, even you."

She couldn't help the look of shock sliding up onto her face as she quickly pushed it back down.

"The only difference is I own up to mine. I don't pretend like I don't enjoy. I may be many things, but I'm not a liar or a fraud. Remember that next time you hear your mother or your uncle spewing their holier than thou shit in your face. They're no better than me," he spat the words at her, roughly releasing her from his grip.

She was too stunned to say anything, too shocked to go after him. He basically called her out, and the bad thing was, he wasn't totally wrong.


End file.
